Paganini's Postings in Poetry and Prose

It started as the garden grew unkempt,
tools rusting, peeling paint upon the shed.
The house grew smaller month by month.
Doors locked. Forgotten keepsakes lost
with misplaced keys. The broken jigsaw
fractured, pieces swept away. Dust
everywhere as age prowled fences, waylaid
life within.

The toilet will not work. The air conditioning
wheezes, fluctuates. Joists creak and fail.
The light bulbs flicker fitfully.
The mirror glass has cracked.
We tiptoe round this almost empty house,
lightly touching sills and frames, remembering,
or settle in the window seat to watch
the passing day.

They say the long goodbye will soon be over now.
But we aren't ready, quite to say goodbye.
And you, you rage again "I-want-to want-to want-to walk"
when trying to sit requires an hour of sleep.
You, my childhood home, my place of comfort,
shelter, joy, frustration, love, must fall to dust.
Fare well.

Bring me the easy death
that stalks the night
and in some gentle dream
slips scythe between one heart-sigh and the last
and whispers "Cease".

Bring me the chilling death
that comes like sleep, but wrapped in ice and snow.
Bring me convenient death
that suits another's need, or whim, or greed.

Bring me the angry death
that in a moment
grips the heart in furious fist
and in a glorious blaze of agonising pain
blows out the light.

Bring me the sudden death
that drives the wheel of accident, mishap or chance.
Bring me the poisoned death
that after wasting flesh comes as release.
Bring me the chosen death
that asks not if, but how and when.

Bring any one of these to me
but bring not this - the cruel death
that day by day unwinds the mind
and steals another random memory or trait;
that week by week runs back the clock
and all things learned unlearned again;
that month by month by season, years
rubs out routines, old habits, friends;
that one by one turns pages written in the book of life
and leaves those pages torn out, crumpled, shredded, gone
so when death comes
the carcass that remains
can't even recognise the kindly face
of saviour, Brother Death.

October 2002

he talks of death,
the new surprise of waking,
this old man,
              my father

(7-10-03)

bemused old man 
in the scanner 
           alzheimer's confirmed?

11/17/2002

In my father's house there are
     over four hundred yoghurt pots
     washed and saved for a rainy day;
     boxes of presents from long dead relatives
     saved new in original wrappers;
     newspapers filed by title and date
     saved for unread articles and offers;
     and layers of dust I cannot remove
     because the cleaner must stay in the box.

In my father's house there are
     no talking giraffes in the bedroom;
     no small people chattering in German
     nor yet boxes of string labelled
     'too short to use', though this may come.
     And there are no longer
     photographs of me - I cut
     the wrong corner from the cheese
     and must not be allowed to take over.

28 October 2000

childs laughter
as we all play 'Mr. Wolf'
in the hospice

This haiku is true in the best sense. Though Dad is not in a hospice his illness is termial and the end very close. Three year old Abigail visited Dad on the ward today and made us all play 'Mr. Wolf' and 'Ring a ring of roses' (Ring around the rosie) Dad smiled and smiled and smiled. A good day to remember.

The games we played seem to me to be a good metaphore for our adult waiting for the inevitable to happen at some unstated time soon.

"I want to do it myself!"
he rages in incoherent words.
"I want to walk.
Get rid of the chair.
I can walk!"
he yells.

But he can't find words
and those random few found
tangle in uncooperative
tongue
and teeth
as he spits and drools.

He would stamp, flounce,
rage, leave with dignity,
have a walk
to calm down
but traiter legs,
wayward floors,
phantom sight
conspire and trip.

He falls back
and sits.
Tears well up
as he helplessly forgets
the why of it all.

Later
She washes
and dresses him for bed.
Tugging at his foot
she puts on one slipper
and the next.

He smiles.
"Thank you for helping me"
he says, quite clearly.
She kisses him
full on the lips
smiling.
She knows
the why of it.

Singing:
"This is the way we eat our peas
eat our peas, eat our peas.
This is the way we eat our peas
on a cold and frosty evening."

Do you remember
how you taught me
to eat peas properly
with a knife and fork;
not scooping them up
as if the fork
were a spoon,
but as polite people do?

Wondering:
"Peas pudding hot,
Peas pudding cold,
Peas pudding in the pot
Nine days old!"

Imagine a child
lining up three peas
between the edge of her knife
and the four tines
of the fork,
screwing up her face
in concentration
as carefully,
she squashes them
onto the fork
and lifts it to her mouth.
Triumphantly,
joyfully she eats.

Playing:
"Five fat peas in a pea pod pressed
One grew, two grew, so did all the rest.
They grew and they grew and they didn't stop
Until one day the pod went 'POP!'"

Tonight I ate peas
the way you taught me
not to do.
Informality is the rule
as with triumph and pleasure
you pick up each pea
between thumb and fingers
and eat.

Humming:
"I eat my peas with honey:
I've done so all my life.
It makes the peas taste funny
But it keeps them on the knife." 
                                          

Sweet sugar sphere
Hard as marbles
tapping teeth ("Don't crunch -
you'll break your plate")
turning on the tongue,
shrinking to the taste
of peppermint

Singing
"I'll put a pebble in my shoe
And watch me walk, I can walk and walk
I shall call the pebble dare
We will talk together about walking" (1)

Shuffling to find a nurse.
There are no pebbles
in hospital.

He's a lovely man
and likes his food.
Sweets in his shoe
deter the mice.
"Old-fashioned trick"
he says.

A little girl
"Mother, may I?"
He holds out sweets

Over distant hills
bright sunshine and clouds
The rattle of rain on his window
like the shaking of mints
in an old, leather shoe.

A shower of white balls
bouncing on hard floor,
dancing into corners
like new memories,
rolling away like dreams

(1) By My side (From the Musical Godspell) - Jay Hamburger